Letters to a Ghost
by lilyofthevalley2
Summary: He wasn't sure why he kept writing them, really. It wasn't like Sherlock would ever read them, and even if he did, he'd scoff at the sentiment. Still, he needed to get them out. Spoilers for "The Reichenbach Fall."
1. 19 June 2012

**AN**: Credit for coming up with the idea to do these letters goes to Es Aitch. This series may be read in tandem with her series, "Letters Home," but is also written to stand on its own.

* * *

To my best fr

You bloody git

Sherlock-

My therapist told me to write a blog because she thought it would help. Get perspective or see things from another point of view, I suppose. Or maybe help with my 'trust issues', as she put them. I don't know. She wasn't the one who cured me. You were. And I don't understand, Sherlock. I can't understand why you...

Why. Just, why. I don't think I'll ever really understand that.

You arranged for me to believe Mrs. Hudson was going to be shot, I'm sure of that. Did you already know then, at St. Bart's that you were going to do it? Was there something I could have said?

I keep thinking of what I said to you. That I called you a machine will always be my greatest regret, and if I—

If I was part of the reason you jumped. I guess I'll always wonder that and hate myself for it.

I guess this is stupid because you're never going to read this. But I'll say it anyway.

You weren't a machine, Sherlock. You weren't _nice_, but you cared more than anyone I've ever known. So many people owe their lives to you. I do too. I was lost when you met me and you gave me so much.

I'm sorry, Sherlock. You once said I was your only friend, but I guess I wasn't a very good one.

John


	2. 23 June 2012

Sherlock-

Lestrade came to visit today. If you were here, you'd probably have told him everything he's done in the last week, pestered him for cases, and pickpocketed him if he was irritating you more than usual.

I'm still angry at him for what he did, Sherlock. Abandoning you, arresting you at a critical moment-doubting you when you needed everyone to stand by you. But he does care about you. Funny thing, I think you cared about him too, in your own Sherlock way. You listened to him at least now and then. I can only imagine what your family was like, but I suppose Lestrade always seemed a bit like a father to you, at least to me. But maybe you'd sniff and accuse me of sentiment.

I've made a decision, Sherlock. I'm leaving the flat tomorrow. Everything here hurts too much, reminds me of you. It's like being constantly kicked in the stomach every time I look around. I'm not sleeping well just now. I might go back to the military hospital for a bit, just until I get my feet under me and find another flat.

I don't know why I'm writing this anymore. You're dead, and no one else is going to read it.

John


	3. 2 August 2012

Sherlock-

I went to your grave the first time today.

Mrs. Hudson's been ringing, trying to get me to come, and I suppose...I suppose it was time. I suppose I felt that seeing it would make it real somehow, as if, if I just pretended long enough, you might be...

Well, it doesn't matter.

It's a peaceful place. Your brother wanted to bury you in the Holmes family plot, but I insisted. It's sentimental, but I felt like if you were going to be buried, you'd rather be surrounded by people whose lives you didn't already know. There are at least a few murders buried there. That should make you happy-deducing from the afterlife.

Maybe it's just my imagination, but somehow, I could have sworn you were listening somehow when I visited the grave. I suppose you would end up as a ghost. Neither God nor the devil could put up with you.

I realized something, Sherlock. Sometimes I wasn't sure I knew you at all, but I'm sure of this: you wouldn't kill yourself. Not like this. You weren't a fake-I never believed that, and nothing will ever make me believe you were. And you wouldn't have killed yourself in despair. It would have been losing the game. So, somehow, Moriarty made you jump.

I suppose he probably threatened the people that were important to you-just like he did that day at the pool.

I'm going to fight him, Sherlock. I know I'm not you, but it's the only thing I can do. You know, the first time I met your brother (he kidnapped me, more or less threatened me, and generally showed even less social graces than you), he said that when a person stands with you, they see the war. I've seen it, Sherlock. You died in it. So I can't walk away from it now.

I'm not stupid. I never really expected to come home from Afghanistan alive-the fact I did was against all odds. So I suppose I'll probably die fighting this war. That's alright though. I'd rather die fighting than not.

Wait for me on the other side, Sherlock.

John


End file.
